Family ties

Photography: LAUREN WENZ

Cyprus's ancient city of Kourion, perched on a hillside
overlooking the translucent Mediterranean, is an archaeological
marvel. Behold intricate floor mosaics, excavated villas, crumbling
shrines, and a restored Greco-Roman amphitheatre whose acoustics
would impress even the most jaded members of the iPod generation.
Stand dead-centre on the orchestra level, above a small hole that's
been carved out of the limestone floor, and your words are
amplified for the uppermost tiers of the theatre. Arts recitals are
still staged here, but the only performance I witnessed on my visit
was a pair of zaftig Russians chirping their national anthem. When
my turn came to test the sonic capacity of the venue, I was tempted
to belt out the operatic passage from "Bohemian Rhapsody". Before I
could, though, a tour guide hovering at the top singled me out.
"You, sir. Do you have a coin? Drop it into the hole." I had no
change, so another sightseer volunteered. As the sound of the coin
echoed loudly, the daytrippers broke out in spirited applause.

It was about the same moment that the penny dropped for me, too,
and I realised what a donkey I'd been in not venturing to Cyprus
earlier. As the child of Greek-Cypriots who migrated to Australia
in the 1950s, I knew that I'd eventually make the jaunt to this
eastern Mediterranean island, yet I never anticipated it would take
me almost 20 years. Somehow, in all my relentless globetrotting,
curiosity about far-flung destinations trumped communion with the
homeland. But when my father passed away last year, I decided I
needed to expedite my plans. When I was a child he would often
praise the untrammelled beauty of the island, especially the leafy
Troodos mountain ranges from where he hailed. My mother, meanwhile,
frequently rhapsodised about Limassol, her birthplace. So, finally,
I made it to Cyprus at the tail end of the northern summer. The
verdict? It's an exotic idyll with breathtaking beaches, sleek
hotels and an action-packed history informed by its many
colonisers.

I spent 10 days crisscrossing Aphrodite's island, from Ayia Napa
in the east to Paphos in the west, from sun-soaked beaches to
thyme-scented mountains. I wandered around the sleepy streets of
old Nicosia, the capital famously divided into Greek-Cypriots and
Turkish-Cypriots, and explored charming rustic villages where women
fashion lace tablecloths, men play endless rounds of backgammon in
cafés, and cats bask in the plentiful sunshine. I admired Venetian
walls, Byzantine churches and medieval castles, as well as
staggering monuments from antiquity, which appeared at every turn.
I also peered into the kitchens of some of the country's leading
culinary lights, and dipped into local foods such as tashi, an
addictive sesame paste that accompanies most meals. Along the way I
practised my Greek, which had become as rusty as the ruins, and
reconnected with relatives who embraced me with warmth.

My journey began in the south. Larnaca, the location of the
largest airport, has dark-sand beaches, edifying museums and
heritage sites. Unfortunately, I had no time for any of it. From
the airport I hurtled through the night to Ayia Napa, an hour's
drive east. Most people come to this resort town for the karaoke
bars, the foam parties and the clubbing scene. Me? I came to
decompress.

I figured that by late September the madness would be over. I
was wrong. The bustling pool scene at my hotel consisted of lumpy
Germans, rowdy Brits and haughty Russians still buzzing from the
night before. I fuelled up on a frothy frappé and escaped to Ayia
Napa's powdery beaches - some of the most exquisite on the island -
including those in nearby Protaras. At night, the central square of
Ayia Napa came alive with its slew of bizarre themed bars, such as
The Flintstones-inspired Bedrock Inn, so I retreated to the more
stylish environs of the Napa Mermaid for a quiet supper. But at the
hotel I was thwarted in my final attempt to unwind when a raging
concert kicked off around the pool at midnight. I thanked the gods
for earplugs.

Two days later, knackered from Napa, I departed for Nicosia. The
roads are mostly excellent in Cyprus and you drive on the left -
one of the many vestiges of British culture. The tiny island nation
sits at the crossroads of three continents and was passed back and
forth like a prize between marauding powers including the
Assyrians, Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Venetians, Ottomans and
British, until independence in 1960. In August 1974, Turkey invaded
the island in response to a military coup by pro-Greek forces,
splitting it into a Greek-Cypriot south and a Turkish-occupied
north. Nicosia, more than anywhere, illustrates this division and
collision: stop to examine a graffitied wall and you might notice
bullet holes from the crisis. To visit both sides of Nicosia, you
must cross a security checkpoint and exchange euros for Turkish
liras. Since I was in Turkey the previous summer (and perhaps
feeling oddly guilty about it), I elected to focus on the southern
side. North-south relations are better these days, but "the Cyprus
problem", as it's known, persists, and there are few more fractious
subjects when speaking with residents.

Makarios Avenue, named for the former president and church
leader, is the commercial centre of Nicosia and is dotted with
cafés, shops and restaurants. More intriguing is the city's old
quarter, with its labyrinth of narrow streets, and retail stores
that have improbably resisted the passage of time. Cyprus joined
the European Union in 2004 and, while the economic situation is not
as dire as Greece, it did request a bailout last year. The island's
financial prospects were recently bolstered by the discovery of
natural gas reserves. Such were the topics of conversation at
dinner with Christos Moustras from the Cyprus Tourism Organisation.
Moustras told me that the nation's big exports included wine,
potatoes, carob, chocolate, and haloumi (no surprise there). The
salty cheese was a mainstay of Cypriot cuisine long before it
enlivened menus in Sydney and Melbourne. The real discovery for me
was anari, a sublime whey cheese that's a byproduct of haloumi.
Anari is to Cyprus what ricotta is to Italy, and each morning for
breakfast I insisted on having a small slab drizzled with carob
syrup and garnished with pistachios.

Carob was once so prized in Cyprus that it was dubbed "black
gold". On the drive to Troodos, I noticed carob shrubs clinging to
fertile mountainsides. The air was fragrant with wild thyme,
rosemary and juniper berries. At one point we passed a herd of
frisky goats bolting to higher ground, and you can often spy droves
of grazing Cyprus mouflon, the native shaggy mountain sheep. The
bucolic setting reminded me of a photograph of my father from the
1940s. In it Dad is smiling, shirtless and carrying a rifle, out
hunting hares with friends, a portrait of pastoral bliss. These
days the hare population has dwindled, and the most popular game is
partridge. Although it's long been a criminal offence, songbird
trapping is still rife in Cyprus. Birds such as the blackcap are
known as ambelopoulia and widely considered a delicacy to be served
grilled, pickled or boiled. You won't find them listed on menus but
locals know which restaurants will serve them. "They're delicious,"
a taxidriver assured me. "Would you like to try some?"

Despite being a devout omnivore, I was ambivalent about gobbling
up pretty little warblers in the name of research. Besides, there
were far too many other distinctively Cypriot treats in which to
take pleasure.

At George's Bakery, in the cobblestoned village of Omodos, it
was difficult to choose between savoury delights such as arkatena
bread, made from fermented chickpeas and spices, and sweets
including soujoukos, a sausage-shaped confection of grape juice and
almonds.

Beguiling villages cover the Troodos mountains and almost all of
them have ornate Greek Orthodox churches with Byzantine icons and
vivid frescoes. One of the most renowned is St Nicholas of the Roof
near the scenic village of Kakopetria. I found myself inspired by
the splendour of the ecclesiastical art and bought three small
icons by painter Maria Aristou, who has a studio in Omodos. It
wasn't so much a religious awakening as an appreciation for the
richness of Cypriot culture - my culture.

In winter, the Troodos region turns into a ski resort, complete
with stone houses for lodging. Another temptation of the mountains
is the outcrop of boutique vineyards now sprouting around its
southern slopes. The best-known Cypriot drops derive from the mavro
(dark red grape) and xynisteri (white grape) vines.

At Zambartas winery, Marcos Zambartas held court with his Dutch
partner Marleen Brouwer. The affable pair, who met while studying
at Adelaide University in 2007, represent the fresh face of Cypriot
wine production. "New World wines on old soil" is how Zambartas
characterises their output, which includes an elegant xynisteri, a
luscious sémillon sauvignon blanc, and a defiantly full-flavoured
rosé. "I get text messages from friends about the miracles it can
do," said Zambartas with a wink, evoking Dionysos. The god of wine
and merriment is still an omnipresent force in Cyprus. In Paphos,
the UNESCO-protected House of Dionysos has jaw-dropping
second-century mosaics in veneration of the sybaritic son of Zeus
and Semele.

The other inescapable deity in Cyprus is the aforementioned
Aphrodite, who blazed a trail from god-fearing antiquity to
modern-day ubiquity. Countless attractions have been named in her
honour: grottos, temples, tavernas, and an expansive (and
expensive) suite at the Anassa hotel. The suite is equipped with an
outdoor jacuzzi where, if you were so inclined, you could re-enact
the legendary birth of the goddess rising from the sea foam.

Much of the former cult of Aphrodite centres on the tourist hub
of Paphos, as well as Polis, a coastal town in the north-west. I
skipped the Baths of Aphrodite, an emerald grotto where the goddess
was said to have splashed around, and jumped on a boat touring the
coastline instead. Polis, edged by the Akamas peninsula and
serviced by the port of Latchi (or Latsi), is Cyprus at its most
picturesque. We sailed by rocky cliffs, turquoise beaches, remote
churches and luxurious homes that have multiplied in recent
years.

Back at the harbour, several excellent eateries vie for patrons.
Yiangos & Peter Fish Tavern sprang to life as a ramshackle hut
in 1978. It's now a sprawling restaurant with enough seating for
360 diners and signature red tartan tablecloths (better to stand
out from the competition). Y&P is renowned for its piquant fish
soup and pristine seafood, but also serves many other notable
dishes, which we paired with the locally brewed, flaxen-coloured
Keo beer. Chef Katina Kouppas, who resided in Sydney almost 25
years ago and admitted to missing Chiko rolls of all things, has a
deft touch in the kitchen. I particularly loved the light-as-air
moussaka, to which she added a splash of Commandaria, the dessert
wine with an exalted past. "Greek food is richer than Cypriot,"
said Kouppas. "They use more oil, tomato paste and sugar than we
do." She shared a segment of ethereal kataifi as evidence of her
subtle approach to desserts. It was neither densely packed with
nuts nor drenched in honey syrup. In fact, it was perfectly
formed.

In his 1957 memoir, Bitter Lemons, British novelist
Lawrence Durrell described Cyprus as a sun-bruised demi-paradise,
"full of goddesses and mineral springs; ancient castles and
monasteries; fruit and grain and verdant grasslands; priests and
gypsies and brigands". I didn't stumble upon any criminal types,
unless you count the dish ofton kleftiko. "Kleftis" means thief,
and the oven-cooked lamb was named for the crafty bandits who
prepared their stolen meat in sealed underground ovens. The most
impressive rendition was at Kouppas Stone Castle Tavern in the
village of Neo Chorio, near Polis. Chef Andreas Kouppas, Katina's
son, seasoned his lamb with salt and oregano and slow-cooked it in
a clay oven. Dinner was hosted by Cypriot-Australian cooks Helen
Demetriou and Steve Georgiou. The intrepid siblings were conducting
research for a forthcoming cookbook and were catching up with
family members.

"Cypriot cuisine has influences from the Middle East, Armenia,
even Turkey," said Demetriou as she cracked open a candied walnut.
"The spicy twist of coriander and cumin means it's incredibly
flavoursome."

Cypriots don't like to be rushed. Not when it comes to talking,
living or eating. "Siga siga", or "slowly slowly", was a refrain I
heard repeated many times during my stay. At the exceptional Paphos
restaurant 7 St Georges, it's recommended you allot at least three
hours for your meze meal. The restaurant has only one sitting for
dinner, which takes place on a shaded terrace, and no menus.

"I don't believe in food coming in half an hour," said
owner-chef George Demetriades. "Meze is a Farsi word that means
'taste'. You eat, you talk, you experience." The burly,
silver-haired Demetriades is a polymath, philosopher and
self-sufficient gourmand in one - he bakes his own bread, cures his
own meats and forages for wild comestibles. Our feast began with a
dish of raw cauliflower puréed with mayonnaise, vinegar and pepper.
A flurry of divine small plates followed, including pickled sea
fennel, black-eyed beans, baked eggplant, kefalotiri cheese,
burghul, white zucchini, beef stifatho, and roast pork with fig
jam.

The past and present forever intersect in Cyprus. In Limassol,
the southern city where I concluded my odyssey, you can have dinner
alongside a medieval museum. The sandstone castle stands on the
site where, in 1191, Richard the Lionheart married Berengaria of
Navarre and crowned her Queen of England. Today it's a repository
of artefacts, including wood carvings, suits of armour and Ottoman
pottery. By night, the vicinity is animated by a cluster of coolly
modern restaurants in the Carob Mill complex, a former warehouse
precinct. A glittering new marina development in Limassol's old
port has attracted a swathe of foreign investors, the latest wave
of affluent émigrés. As I listened to new friends converse at a
lively bar in the area, I was entertained by the linguistic verve
of Cypriot dialect, and sounds like j, ch and sh that were imported
from languages other than Greek. For instance, the word "ohi", or
"no", is pronounced "oshee".

Cyprus's culture is based around reverence for the family, and
extended families - no matter how big - like to eat together
regularly. On my final night I was fortunate enough to dine at my
aunt Niki's home in suburban Limassol, where a gaggle of relatives
assembled to meet me. To the seraphic children of my first cousins
I was introduced as a "Mikro Theo", or Little Uncle. We sat outside
under a lemon tree and watched my aunt and her helpers prepare
dishes including souvla, lamb and pork slow-cooked on charcoals, as
well as sheftalies, lamb and pork meatballs wrapped in caul
fat.

When the plumes of smoke threatened to displace us, or choke us
to death, as one of my uncles quipped, my resourceful cousin
Antonis fetched an industrial fan. Out came stuffed zucchini
flowers, baked pasta dishes, and rice-filled dolmades, or koupepia
as they're called in Cyprus. I adored my aunt's bourekia - pillowy
pastries filled with anari, my new obsession - that she served
along with several other desserts. As I indulged in yet another
boureki, my uncle Panickos offered me an apéritif. "If you drink
two or three glasses of ouzo, you will feel happier," he said with
a cheeky grin. Actually, I didn't need the ouzo. Cyprus had already
won me over.

THE FINE PRINT

GETTING THERETravel.com.au can arrange every aspect of your
trip to Cyprus. Book your trip online or contact one of the
company's travel experts to curate your own Cyprus itinerary. 1300
130 483

STAYAmathus Beach Hotel This retreat, ideally located on the Limassol beachfront, has
a sleek design, genial service and five restaurants, while the
Amathus archaeological site is a stone's throw away. Rooms from
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Apokryfo
These renovated old stone homes in the village of Lofou, in the
mountains between Limassol and Troodos, offer a tranquil escape,
rustic vibe and a revered restaurant. Rooms from $185. Lofou
Village, Limassol, +357 25 813 777

Laledes Restaurant
Everything on the menu is sourced locally and prepared lovingly by
charismatic owner-chef Doros Nearchou, and the quaint interior is
decked out with found objects collected over many years. 6 Griva
Digeni, Kouklia, Paphos, +357 26 432 233